Page 14 of A Duke Never Tells
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JAMES CLAY
Of all the conversations James had ever had—drunk or sober, in male or female company, in public or in private—not one of them had ever come close to this one. Or ever would, he suspected.
Both Lady Sophronia and Mabel, then, had seen his strong resemblance to the painting. Indeed, he reckoned his father had been approximately the same age he was now when the old duke had sat for it. None of that signified, but it rolled through his mind anyway, likely because directly behind that thought lay a roiling, empty sea of no idea what the devil to say.
He had three choices, really: tell the truth and reveal that he was, in fact, the new Duke of Earnhurst; claim that he’d heard about the resemblance to Earnhurst but was no relation whatsoever to the man, which they wouldn’t believe because he’d already been speechless for too long; or go along with her suspicions because he’s already sunk his reputation into this little farce.
All those possibilities went through his mind in a flash, but he’d already decided that the third option would be by far the most entertaining to pursue. He was already submerged beyond his depth in this madness. A few more feet of water wouldn’t matter. “You’ve found me out, my lady,” he said, nodding at Lady Sophronia. “Mabel. I trust you’ll keep my secret?”
“But why? Why are you the butler here?” Mabel demanded, while Lady Sophronia took an abrupt seat.
“I was making a living as a… card player,” he decided, “and the new duke didn’t like his peers seeing me in gaming hells—or taking their money. As he needed a butler, he brought me on.”
“A gambler? That does explain why you’re such a horrible butler,” Mabel commented.
Well, that stung a bit. “Am I truly that bad at it?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“You snacked while you were serving dinner,” the lady pointed out.
“You tried to shut the door on us when we first arrived,” Mabel added. “And you spoke very rudely.”
“You use the main staircase.”
“You were drunk on duty.”
“You stole cheese.”
Had he been that bad at it? “I think you’re exagger—”
“I saw you arguing with His Grace.” Lady Sophronia gasped, waving her hands. “That’s because he’s your half brother. My goodness. The two of you look nothing alike, but things make so much more sense now.”
James scowled. “To you, perhaps. I’ve just been told, again, that I’m unqualified to be a butler.” Leaving the portrait behind him, he walked over and set Mabel down on the chair beside her employer. Annoyed as he was, he took care not to further injure her foot. “I thought I was at least chivalrous.”
“Oh, you were! You are,” Mabel countered. “You rescued me from the stairs. And you brought me cheese, stolen or not, and had luncheon made for me. Considering that you’ve been forced or coerced into being your own half brother’s servant, I think you’ve shown an amazing degree of chivalry.”
Well, that made him sound gallant, at least. “Thank you.”
“I can’t help but think there’s some villainy here,” Lady Sophronia stated. “Given your resemblance to your father, I can see why His Grace wouldn’t want you gadding about London taking his friends’ money. But to employ you as his own servant? Did you have no other recourse?”
Now this was becoming fun. “He publicly accused me of cheating. Once he did that, I couldn’t sit at a table to save my life. As I didn’t want to be put out onto the street, I had little choice but to accept his offer.”
“Oh, that’s horrid,” Mabel exclaimed, reaching out to take his hand. “Reputation ruined and then forced into servitude. I can’t imagine.”
Something very like lightning spun up his spine at the sensation of her hand not just touching his, but twining with his fingers. He’d had his full of faux sympathy over the past year, but this wasn’t that. They were strangers, but his imaginary predicament genuinely dismayed Mabel. This felt… He liked touching her, skin to skin. Sweet heaven. “I make do as best I can.” He tightened his fingers around hers. “And I would appreciate it very much if you didn’t spread this about. I’m hoping the rest of the staff isn’t as discerning and observant as you are, my lady. Mabel.”
Hopefully that would explain the staff’s bafflement if one or the other of the women did say something. Because being his own bastard brother was going to be complicated enough as it was.
Once they assured him that they would keep his secret, he hefted Mabel into his arms again and returned her to her bed. Oddly, while he didn’t mind spinning a tale for the lady, lying to the companion didn’t sit well with him. It might have been the empathy in her gaze, the readiness of her smile, or the fact that she was what he only pretended to be—someone of little means who’d evidently been employed because of a family member’s relationship with her employer. Whatever it was, he was going to have to be cautious around her. Otherwise he might find himself doing something idiotic like blurting out the truth—which would likely horrify and embarrass her, in addition to ruining what was left of his reputation.
With that in mind, the moment he had Mabel settled, he went to find Riniken. The man of business stood speaking to one of the workers in a familiar manner that said the two men knew each other. “Your Grace?” James said. “A word?”
“Ah, James. Have you met Remiton’s blacksmith? Walter Stokes, my butler, James Riniken. James, Mr. Stokes.”
James nodded. “Thank you for coming to our assistance so swiftly.”
The blacksmith barked a laugh. “For five quid? You should’ve seen how quickly I shod Reverend Geoffers’s nag so I could close my shop.”
“We appreciate your swiftness. These stairs have been a growing menace for months.” Riniken nodded at the smith, then gestured for James to head toward the study at the front of the hallway.
“Was that another criticism of me?” James asked, ducking into the room and deliberately taking one of the facing chairs. Riniken was the current duke; he could sit behind the giant mahogany desk.
“If you heard it as such, then yes, it most likely was, Your Grace,” the man of business said, closing the door and taking the second facing chair. “Do I dare ask what caused this sudden burst of activity?”
Ah, outflanked. “They’re not just an eyesore; they’re dangerous,” James returned.
“They’ve been dangerous for months.”
“Well, I haven’t been here for months.”
“I’ve written you about them—and everything else, repeatedly.”
Narrowing his eyes, James sat back in the chair. “I’m aware that my father arranged for all the blame to fall to me. Thank you.”
“Perhaps I should rephrase,” Riniken said, tapping his fingers against the desktop. “I’m heartened that you’ve taken some action.”
“Yes, well, prepare to be disheartened. Did you happen to guide Lady Sophronia through the portrait gallery today?”
“Yes, this morning. Why?”
“Thanks to your grand hosting efforts, she and her maid decided I bear such a striking resemblance to the old duke’s portrait that I must be his illegitimate younger son. You’ve managed to make us related, after all.”
The man of business blinked, opened his mouth, then shut it again. “They… She… I mean to say, they asked you about it?”
“Oh, directly. As in, ‘James, are you the duke’s bastard?’ Well, they didn’t say bastard—they were more polite than that—but that was the gist of the conversation.”
“We’re foiled, then. You told them you’re the duke and I’m your man of business.” Riniken sighed. “Just as well, I suppose. Perhaps together we can convince Lady Sophronia not to wag her tongue about this in Mayfair. She does seem a sensible woman.”
“I went along with it,” James countered.
“Wh… What?”
Seeing Riniken nonplussed was even more satisfying than he’d imagined, and James didn’t even attempt to stifle his amusement. “I was a gambler on the fringes of Mayfair, you see, but you didn’t like your friends and compatriots being fleeced by me so you ruined my reputation, then hired me to be your butler to keep me under your thumb.”
The older man stared at him. Glared at him. Seethed with unspoken rage at him. “You’ve made me the villain.”
“I’ve spun a tale.” James stood again. “Militarily strategize your way out of it if you can. Otherwise, I’ll see you at dinner so I may watch you eat, brother.”
“Before you stomp off in triumph,” Riniken said, “have a look at this.” The man of business leaned forward to pull a folded paper from the desk drawer.
Not bothering to hide his annoyance at having his well-timed exit ruined, James took the note and opened it. “What is it?”
“Read it. I’ll wait.”
James read it, his stomach lurching a little. “Have we been lying to the government?” he asked, looking up.
“I beg your pardon?” Riniken snapped, standing. “Do you think for one moment that your father, a man who loved his country so much that he fought around the world to protect its interests, would attempt to evade paying the taxes that enable the payment of the army?”
“I’ll concede that point.” James knew a brick wall when he slammed headfirst into one. “Who sent this, then?”
“I can’t be entirely certain, but I believe it to be from Jasper Burshin.”
“And he is?” James prompted. For God’s sake, Riniken knew he hadn’t been paying attention to any of the duke’s business for years.
“The banking assistant who stole all of the Earnhurst staff’s wages plus another thousand pounds from other investments, tangled the accounting books, and then vanished.”
“Oh, him. Haven’t we had him arrested yet?”
“Firstly, you haven’t reported any of it, and secondly, I have been unable to locate him as I’ve been hunting after you.”
Of course it would end up being his fault. James turned the letter over. “Well, it was posted in Dorchester. Begin there.” With that he handed the letter back and left the room. That letter was clearly business, and Riniken was the damned man of business. And the duke, for the moment. He was only a butler. And a bastard, evidently, though Riniken had probably thought him that already.